


Slipping

by katiebuttercup



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, F/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebuttercup/pseuds/katiebuttercup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after from America's point of view</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slipping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Moonligten](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Moonligten).
  * Inspired by [Five Dates that Weren't, and One that Was](https://archiveofourown.org/works/630740) by [moonlighten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlighten/pseuds/moonlighten). 



Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters, the basis of this plot belongs solely to moonlighten. I don't pretend to know if this is what the author intended, this is just my idea

Warning un beta'd

 

America's world is engulfed in warmth, from the hot July sunlight that filters through the window unencumbered by the drapes falling hot and heavy over his face and chest to the warm body curled on top of him. 

He lets his mouth curve into a satisfied smile, it's not a dream, and the only thought in his head is 

Finally. 

Finally England is in his arms. It's not the way he imagined, and he's spent a lot of time and suffered enough pointed looks from Ludwig during world meetings thinking about it but it's a beginning, he's not looking forward to the inevitable conversation that will happen later on especially since he's feeling kind of sensitive this morning, the alcohol like a ghost in his veins but sex puts everyone in a good mood, even England he's sure. 

His sleepy half formed thoughts are disrupted as England stirs above him and after a few moments of silence where America waits for her to settle again, it's way to early even for her to get up, she begins to wriggle out of his hold. 

Instinctively he reaches for her, hand moving soothingly down the soft slope of her back, urging her back into his arms but England resists further forcing the sleepiness out of America's brain, as England untangles herself from his sheets, he feels the sting as the ends of her hair whip across his cheek. She on the floor in an instant rifling through their intermingled clothing with hands that shake. 

What tightens America's heart unbearably is the tears, he hasn't seen England cry in decades, there was a time when he had been sure that England had been incapable of crying. 

"England..."

She ignores him, lost in her own world, her face is red and she's crying so hard that America fears she won't stop, she's speaking in a language he doesn't understand but he recognises it as the language she speaks sometimes when she is with her brothers or when she is doing magic. 

She sounds desperate, and alone the way a child would cry for its mother, America blinks back his own tears, he's still half asleep and he can't quite keep up, England is like a whirlwind and in a moment she is gone the door slamming shut behind her even as he calls her back. 

He's halfway out of bed when he realises he is still naked and forces himself to take a deep breath, he takes Texas from the bedside table and puts them on, the room finally focusing. The room is a mess, pillows thrown in the heat of passion and England has dragged the sheets to the foot of the bed where they fall over the edge in a puddle on the floor. The urge to go after her is overwhelming but he stills his muscles as he dresses, he may not care if he wonders around his house in just his bed sheets but he's pretty sure England would and he doesn't want to draw too much attention. The only saving grace is that it is so early in the morning that it is unlikely that anyone else will be up. 

He's right. 

He doesn't encounter anyone as he walks the long hallways of his home, but he keeps his pace as steady as he can even if his heart is pounding and the only thought in his head is ' find her' 

His garden is a mess of bunting and tables and he finds Wales amongst the debris. A thousand demands crowd in his mind but what comes out is; 

"Is she okay?" 

Wales tilts his head, assessing, and America wonders what he makes of the slight bounce in his step, the desire to move, to find England, but he forces himself to stillness. No one knows England better than her family if he wants answers he will find them here.

"It's a long story," Wales says hesitantly. 

America crosses his arms across his chest, "I'm listening." 

X 

"You have to be joking," America splutters when Wales finishes his story, he wants so badly to punch England's brother but Wales looks like he is punishing himself enough, and suddenly the things England had been babbling about in her drunken state last night made more sense. 

"We never thought England would believe us" Wales says. 

"Yeah well she did," he sounds bitter but he can't help it, he's mad on his own behalf and on England's. 

They weren't a fucking experiment, or a game. 

His ego swelled at the thought of England choosing him to be her first lover, despite himself he let himself believe that perhaps it was a sign that England felt the same, that he wasn't alone in feeling the intense longing when they were together. 

"Oh god I've fucked up!" America backed up until he sat on one of the picnic table. Hindsight wasn't only 20/20 but fucking painful and all of the reasons for holding back flared in his brain. 

He had taken advantage of her. 

The fourth was a wound that may have closed but had left a scar, and despite what everyone thought America felt that scar heavily, he hadn't expected England to come to his birthday and he certainly hadn't expected her to look as beautiful as she had, it had broken his defences, and he had attempted to bolster himself with alcohol especially when it seemed that England was determined to ignore him all night, a clear message that he may be forgiven but she hadn't forgotten, still holding it against him. Against them 

And then he had found her in his bedroom, tipsy and talking nonsense, and that had been another hit to his defences, wrapped in his sheets and baring her soul, even if America hadn't understood most of it and then she had kissed him and he had been lost. 

"I have to talk to her," America says finally, Wales winces and America glares.

"Maybe you should give her some space, she's pretty mad," 

He wants to rail against Wales, he wants to brush past him and find England, every second she's getting further away and any hope he has of making it right is disappearing with her. 

But he breathes. England is undoubtedly embarrassed, and she hates being cornered, he is liable to do more damage charging after her. He has waited before, waited for a chance to stand beside her as an ally after the revolution, to have her accept him as an equal he could do it again. 

The thing that burns, that he can't face without the soothing balm of alcohol is the idea that England doesn't feel the same, that he was simply an experiment, a test of her new sexual appetite. 

Waiting. 

It feels like the worst thing in the world but England can't stay mad forever, at least he hopes. 

He can't get rid of the feeling that he has fucked up beyond repair.


End file.
